all that remains
by theotherthompson
Summary: "We've reached the endgame," Severus says to Albus with a gesture to the chessboard. Albus hums in agreement.


**AN:** QLFC Season 5 Round 13. Prompts were the the rook, where I had to use the chess piece and write in the perspective of someone other than a student living in Hogwarts. I chose to write in Severus Snape's point of view, as kind of a character study. Additional prompts were _chessboard_ , _desire_ , and _strategy_ (prompts 2, 12, 13).

This fic is set a bit after the Gringotts break-in, and right before the Final Battle at Hogwarts. I ended up using chess as a metaphor, and Dumbledore and Snape like to double-speak a lot so yeah, that happened.

The title of this fic comes from the song Skulls by Bastille.

Final word count: 1,139

* * *

"Potter was at Gringotts a few days ago," Severus says instead of a proper greeting when he walks into the Headmaster's office. He shrugs off his cloak and drapes it carelessly on the chair behind the desk, then sits down. "And he escaped it on a dragon," he continues. He puts his face in his hands, pressing his temples to stave off a headache.

"A dragon," he repeats. Severus doesn't know if he should be impressed or not. He's leaning towards apoplectically furious at the gross amount of recklessness displayed. Breaking into the most secure bank in Britain and riding off on a bloody dragon was in no way a sound strategy for survival.

The portraits of the other Headmaster's titter and whisper around him.

"Oh my," Albus says, behind him. Without even looking Severus knows that he has that twinkle in his eyes. Even as a painting Albus is annoyingly expressive; wise one moment and mischievous the next. Death did nothing to temper his warmth, which is both relieving and frustrating.

Severus twists around just to glare at him, anyway. "Don't sound so smug, Albus, the boy could have gotten himself killed. Again!" He makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat and slumps into his chair. This year has probably been more stressful than all of Potter's other years combined. Severus is going to die from a heart attack before the Dark Lord has a chance to kill him.

Albus at least has the decency not to laugh, though his eyes twinkle even more. In the soft orange light of the sunset streaming through the open windows, Albus looks a little more grandfatherly than usual. The light softens the wrinkles around his eyes into something less severe, blurring the lines. Severus hadn't even noticed the pinched look in Albus' face until it was gone.

Who knew a painting could feel as stressed as he does.

Severus looks away, towards the chessboard he keeps on the corner of Albus- on his desk. It's a muggle board, because Severus never had any patience for the dramatics of the wizarding one. He set it up months ago, on Albus' request, and now there are only a few pieces left on the board. The kings, the queens, a few pawns, a rook, a knight. The black queen is in position to be captured by the white rook, but that would mean sacrificing the rook to the black king.

That's okay, though. Severus planned five steps ahead. The black king would be captured by either the white pawn or the white king in, at minimum, two more moves.

"We've reached the endgame," Severus says to Albus with a gesture to the board. Albus hums in agreement.

"It won't be long now," he says quietly. Thoughtfully. "I admit, I didn't expect you to pull such a move." He's stroking his beard as he says it. Severus' eyes wander to his hand, but it's clear of any curse in the painting. He doesn't know why he expects the decay; painting's aren't usually painted with the dead in mind. If that were the case, they wouldn't have painted Albus with the memory of what he was like alive.

He tries to imagine himself in his own frame up on that wall, next to Albus. The image of himself painted with a heavy hand, with deep black robes and hair and eyes the texture of brushstrokes, pops into mind. He wonders if the artist will be kind enough to do away with the dark shadows under his eyes.

Severus looks away, staring blankly at the board instead. "It's a very Gryffindor move," Severus finally replies. Then, "When they paint my portrait make sure they leave out the gray hair." Make them leave out the worst of me, Severus doesn't say, because he doesn't know how to phrase it. It's not like he wants to be a different person, but he doesn't want to be the one sitting here, in Albus' chair, knowing he won't ever be able to explain himself adequately when the time comes. This was never what he desired.

Albus huffs, "You don't have any, my boy," but that's not true, these days, and not really the point. Stress and worry and fear have aged him more these past two years than ten years has.

He puts his hands on the desk and traces the grains. The orange light make the liver spots and scars on his hand less harsh as well. Sunset seems like such a forgiving time.

They're both quiet for a moment. The rest of the portraits in the room have kindly drifted off, giving them some privacy, or have pretended to fall asleep. Severus look at his hands and Albus looks at the board, and neither of them say anything at all. Severus lets himself feel his exhaustion for once, lets it sink into his bones and shoulders. He wants so much to be able to finally finish this, but he's just a single man, and he doesn't even have the pieces to do so. That's all between Potter and the Dark Lord.

There's a quiet knock on the door of his office. "Enter," he calls out, drawing himself up. He back is straight, shoulders set, and his expression is foreboding once again when the door swings open to admit Minerva into the office.

"It's the Carrows," she says instead of a greeting, her face unfriendly. "They want to speak to you about the student punishments." She whirls around right after, disappearing behind the door she slams shut in a whirl of emerald robes and muted rage.

Severus almost sighs. He gets up instead, pulling on the cloak that he'd tossed onto the back of his chair earlier. He has to spell the wrinkles that have formed in the cloth away before he's ready to step out of the office.

"I'll see you later, Albus," he says as he straightens his robes.

"Of course." Albus says, then, "Do come back. We have, after all, reached the endgame."

Severus glances up at his portrait with narrowed eyes. "We have," he says agreeably. With another glance to the chessboard, he reaches over and completes the game. The rook is taken by the black king, but the white side wins in the end. He traces the ridges of the rook with his thumb as he spells the board to set itself up for a new game, minus one white rook. He puts the rook in his pocket instead.

"We can start a new game when I return," he says. His voice is a little flat. It's an empty promise, and both of them know it.

"I apologise for all the trouble. Thank you, Severus," Albus says, too sincere. He isn't talking about chess, and both of them know it.

Severus leaves.

* * *

 **Chess terminology:**

 _Endgame_ \- final stage of a game such as chess or bridge, when few pieces or cards remain


End file.
